


Red

by akkinda1004



Category: VIXX
Genre: Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-05 03:05:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17316869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akkinda1004/pseuds/akkinda1004
Summary: Red was all Taekwoon could see. The only thing in his word was the paint running smoothly across his canvas. His brush would twist and turn, creating both delicate, almost unnoticeable lines, and his favourite, long, thick lines that heavily stood out from the rest.Red was all Taekwoon could see, until he found you.





	Red

Red was all Taekwoon could see. The only thing in his word was the paint running smoothly across his canvas. His brush would twist and turn, creating both delicate, almost unnoticeable lines, and his favourite, long, thick lines that heavily stood out from the rest.

Red was all Taekwoon could see, until he found you. Your doe like, dewy eyes and your crimson tinted cheeks shone brighter than any red he had ever seen. Your lips, bitten scarlet by your teeth as you tried to stop your emotions taking control, made Taekwoon’s eyes shimmer and the corners of his lips pull into a smile.

His artwork was beautiful, but it’s beauty could never compare to yours. That’s why he kept painting. Sometimes so quickly, so violently that by the time he was finished, Taekwoon was covered in red from head to toe. His heartbeat increased as he painted, until it’s pounding drum was all that he could hear. It felt to Taekwoon as though he had taken the heartbeat of each of his artworks inside of himself to keep forever.

Taekwoon kept practicing, kept collecting the heartbeats so that one day he would be able to hear your own, pounding in his ears.

That day he practiced as you stood and watched. He peered over his work as your eyes fought to stay open and your body shook. You didn’t know how long you had been standing in that same spot, but it felt like weeks.

With one final slash of his paintbrush, he was done. The last stroke was thick, with paint slowly trickling down from it. The artist took two of his fingers and wiped away some of the paint, raising the fingers his mouth to lick them clean. Taekwoon would never get tired of the warm, metallic taste.

He smiled fondly at his finished work. It was beautiful, but not perfect. Not a masterpiece. He was still working up to that, a place only you could bring him. Taekwoon turned his attention back to you. His work slipped out of his grasp and landed on the ground with a thud. He walked around the art, making his way carefully towards you, the paintbrush still held in his tight clutch.

Sweat glistened on your skin, your hair beginning to stick to your forehead. Taekwoon stood expressionless with his back straight and his shoulders pulled back, observing you as your shoulders shook and your knees wobbled.

“Do you like it?” He asked in a soft voice. To a stranger his voice would be like calming waves, when you first met the artist that was exactly what you thought. Now you knew him differently. Still, you couldn’t say a word. Taekwoon’s jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed at your silence. He glared straight into your eyes that were still so bright, and full of life, wondering how different you would look without those eyes - how you would look with red tears pouring down your cheeks.

“Do you like it?” He repeated, stretching each syllable to make his growing anger more obvious. Though art helped him calm down, you knew that Taekwoon had a nasty temper. You nod frantically, knowing that that had been your last chance, but it didn’t satisfy him.

“You’re lying,” He stated, his voice was no louder than his earlier calm questions, which terrified you more than if he were to shout. Your knees buckled beneath you, pulling you down to the cold concrete ground. Your mouth opened and closed but you couldn’t form any words, so you resorted to shaking your head.

“Paint for me.” The artist suggested, eyes lighting up at his sudden idea. Your face began to pale, which Taewoon didn’t even think was possible as your skin was already a milky white. He put the paint stained brush into his pocket so he could grab your shoulders and pull you up onto your feet.

Taekwoon then lead you out of his studio and out into the blistering cold winter night. Instead of your shoulders, he then clasped of your hands tightly in his. Very few people were out waking at that time of night, but his eyes quickly caught the ones that were. He smiled.

“Go on,” He ordered. Your eyes widen and you shake your head. “You can’t even do this?” He asked, digging his nails into your soft flesh, making small trickles of red run down your hand. You hesitantly raise one finger, pointing it at a young man standing alone on the other side of the street. He was tall, maybe a year or so younger than yourself, with black hair and a large hoodie. His head bobbed slightly to the music playing in his ears.

Taekwoon dragged you across the empty road towards the young man. Once you were at the other side, he handed you the paintbrush from his pocket. “Remember I have another brush with me,” he warned you before letting go of your hand and pushing you in the young man’s direction.

You crept up behind him, the paintbrush shaking in your hand. Then suddenly you were right behind the man, with the paintbrush barely brushing against the skin of his neck. You removed one of his earphones and whispered in his ear for him to follow you before guiding him back towards Taekwoon. The young man behaved, careful of the brush agains his neck. You were glad, not knowing what the Taekwoon would do if he didn’t. The artist ripped the mans other headphone from his ear. Then he caught hold of the headphone wire and dropped the phone onto the ground.

The three of you then walked back to the studio in silence. Once you arrived, you pulled a chair into the middle of the room and instructed the man to sit down. He reluctantly complied. Taekwoon stood to the side, waiting patiently for you carry on after that, but you didn’t.

“Go on,” He ordered. You shook your head. Tears began to flow down your cheeks, but you tried your best to keep yourself composed. Taekwoon simply glared at you. Of course you didn’t have it in you to paint. Not then at least.

The man, of course knowing what was happening, also begun to weep. His soggy, snot-covered face scrunched up and he clasped his hands in front of himself. He looked at you, his captor, right in the eyes and begged for any other option.

But this was the only option you had.

To Taekwoon, the mans pleads and whimpers quickly became white noise. What he really cared about was your cries. Your hands that were shaking, the paintbrush on the verge of falling from your grasp. Your eyes that refused his meet his. His tongue slid over his teeth and his arms folded across his chest. He didn’t know how much longer he could wait.

“DO IT,” Taekwoon finally snapped. Without even thinking about it, he had taken the other paintbrush out of his pocket. After seeing the paintbrush, your eyes became impossibly round and your eyebrows almost disappeared into your hairline. You nodded.

You took one small step towards the young man, raising the paintbrush. He frantically shook his head and pushed his body further into the back of the chair. You took another step forward. At the same time Taekwoon came up behind you, his free hand now covering yours that held the paintbrush.

“I’ll help you,” I smiled, leaning his chin on your shoulder. He guided your hand closer to the man, which made him raise his hands in futile defence. “Shall we get rid of these?” After a few hard slashes of the brush, his hands rolled onto the floor. Your arms and hand ached with how violent Taekwoon was being. The paintbrush then traveled along his arm, up from his bloody stump. The man then let out a shriek of anguish, making you squeeze your eyes shut, not being able to bare the sight of his helpless state. Taekwoon took the brush in his other hand and held it so that it was almost touching your neck.

“Open your eyes,” He demanded. You opened them, eyes fixed onto the red waterfalls of blood pouring from the mans body. Taekwoon guided your brush further up the mans arm until it reached the sleeve of his t-shirt. Then he stoped.

“Where do you want to go next?” he asked. After a moment you hesitantly lifted the brush until it was only centimetres from his face. Taekwoon didn’t say anything, but from the corner of your eye you could see his smile grow. He let go of your hand and took a step back, leaving you on your own. Your hand almost fell once he left, but you manage to just hold yourself together. You softly pressed the brush into his cheek, creating only small red lines. The man thrashed around, accidentally making your lines thicker and more jagged. Taewoon smirked, his eyes lapping up the beautiful reds. The now thick lines ran down the man’s cheek to his neck. You pushed harder on the paintbrush, it going further into him.

Although Taekwoon was only an observer to your art, he began to hear the thumping beat in his ears and knew that the man’s time was nearing it’s end. The screams gradually died out and his body fell limp against the chair. His heavy breathing was the only sound left in the room.

And then there was no sound. Only his heartbeat, thumping against Taekwoon’s skull, so loudly that he was sure you could hear it too.

You turned to face him. Red paint was beautifully splattered against your face and clothes and all expression from your face was gone. He could tell you thought that this was your end too.

“Don’t worry,” he said taking a step closer to you. “It will all be over soon.”


End file.
